Moonfleet eBook

CHAPTER 2

THE FLOODS

Then banks came down with ruin and rout,
Then beaten spray flew round about,
Then all the mighty floods were out,
And all the world was in the sea _—­Jean
Ingelow_

On the third of November, a few days after this visit
to the Why Not?, the wind, which had been blowing
from the south-west, began about four in the afternoon
to rise in sudden strong gusts. The rooks had
been pitch-falling all the morning, so we knew that
bad weather was due; and when we came out from the
schooling that Mr. Glennie gave us in the hall of
the old almshouses, there were wisps of thatch, and
even stray tiles, flying from the roofs, and the children
sang:

Blow wind, rise storm,
Ship ashore before morn.

It is heathenish rhyme that has come down out of other
and worse times; for though I do not say but that
a wreck on Moonfleet beach was looked upon sometimes
as little short of a godsend, yet I hope none of us
were so wicked as to wish a vessel to be wrecked
that we might share in the plunder. Indeed, I
have known the men of Moonfleet risk their own lives
a hundred times to save those of shipwrecked mariners,
as when the Darius, East Indiaman, came ashore;
nay, even poor nameless corpses washed up were sure
of Christian burial, or perhaps of one of Master Ratsey’s
headstones to set forth sex and date, as may be seen
in the churchyard to this day.

Our village lies near the centre of Moonfleet Bay,
a great bight twenty miles across, and a death-trap
to up-channel sailors in a south-westerly gale.
For with that wind blowing strong from south, if you
cannot double the Snout, you must most surely come
ashore; and many a good ship failing to round that
point has beat up and down the bay all day, but come
to beach in the evening. And once on the beach,
the sea has little mercy, for the water is deep right
in, and the waves curl over full on the pebbles with
a weight no timbers can withstand. Then if poor
fellows try to save themselves, there is a deadly
under-tow or rush back of the water, which sucks them
off their legs, and carries them again under the thundering
waves. It is that back-suck of the pebbles that
you may hear for miles inland, even at Dorchester,
on still nights long after the winds that caused it
have sunk, and which makes people turn in their beds,
and thank God they are not fighting with the sea on
Moonfleet beach.

But on this third of November there was no wreck,
only such a wind as I have never known before, and
only once since. All night long the tempest grew
fiercer, and I think no one in Moonfleet went to bed;
for there was such a breaking of tiles and glass,
such a banging of doon and rattling of shutters, that
no sleep was possible, and we were afraid besides lest
the chimneys should fall and crush us. The wind
blew fiercest about five in the morning, and then